From the Ashes: A New Begining
by Mike Taurguss
Summary: Xena is gone. Gabrielle decides to go to Egypt, just like she and Xena had planned. On her way there she runs into an old friend she didn't know she had and begins the long process of healing. Sequel to Flight of the Phoenix. Chapter 3 is up!
1. An Old Friend

From the Ashes: A New Beginning

This is the sequel to Flight of the Phoenix. For some strange reason, I couldn't let go of the characters from that first story just yet.

DISCLAIMER: Xena, Gabrielle and the characters in XWP do not belong to me, I just borrowed them. Enjoy!!

Xena was dead. The reality of it was that simple. As Gabrielle sat on the ship, looking out over the water, she felt the cool ceramic of the urn in her hands. She was sailing west, away from Japa, away from the nightmare of it all.

Herselfish sidestill tormented her. She should have put Xena's ashes in the Fountain of Strength. She should have brought Xena back, in spite of her objections. She should have found a way to save her friend. She should have, she should have, she should have.

The 'should have's' kept coming and each one was another knife in her heart. She couldn't cry any more. She had run out of tears, if that was possible.

The crew of the ship had given her a wide berth when they saw her and what she carried. A dead body, in any form, was usually a bad omen before setting out to sea. Then as they watched her suffer, day after day, during the long voyage, they simply respected her privacy and let her mourn in peace.

She stood at the same place on the deck, looking back east every morning, watching the sun rise and climb into the sky. Her hands clutched that urn as if it held her own life essence.

No, it was better to avoid the young warrior in brown leather. Aside from the grim demeanor, her weapons were formidable. In each sturdy boot, a sai rested, and a circular weapon that none aboard had ever seen hung from a hook at her waist. Opposite that was a weapon that should not have been carried by a woman foreign or native to Japa. The lacquered wood of her sword sheath gleamed like fresh blood. For a woman to bear a katana of the samurai was unheard of. The fact that this young woman did so spoke highly of her skill and determination. The brilliant tattoo of a dragon stretched across her bare shoulders, snaking down her back. Its scales gleamed like polished jade, and its countenance was so lifelike that many thought it was a living thing unto itself, enslaved by the young woman's power. Its brilliant golden eyes seemed to peer from within her flesh, and the jaws opened as if they would engulf all who came too close.

Some of the crew began to believe that the dragon was alive, for not even the stealthiest of them could approach this woman undetected.

Was she a sorceress? A warrior? A great seer? Did she have the esteem of the royal houses of Japa? Such were the silent questions and soft whispers among the crew.

Gabrielle did not care about any of this. She didn't care about what they thought. If anything, the fear had garnered a respect from the men. It was a respect she was more than comfortable cultivating, for it maintained her self imposed exile from others.

As she stood watching another sun rise, a grim smile had just barely touched the corners of her mouth. When she had first met Xena, many menhadapproached her, or tried to do something to her, just because she was young, blonde and quite beautiful. Her green eyes had been full of innocence and naiveté back then.

Now, when people looked in her eyes, they saw something else. Few were the men that could long endure that gaze, especially when she wished for solitude. Her eyes could go from the warmth of a summer grasses, to the coldness of a glacier.

One of the citizens in Hidochi, an old wise man, had placed his hand on her head and blessed her before she set off.

"Fare well, Jade Dragon" he had said in his own tongue. "May the Gods stand between you and harm, in all the empty places you must travel."

Gabrielle had boarded the ship without a word or a glance back.

Now two days from the coast of Egypt, her demeanor had not changed. She was still grim and silent.

When the ship finally docked, she paid the balance of her passage and departed, again without a word.

She purchased some supplies and water skins for the long trek across the desert into the land of the Pharaohs and set out that very night. No one followed her. No bandit marked her as prey. If anything, the general populace avoided her outside the realm of doing business.

The sun beat down upon her during the days, and the nights brought the frigid cold of the desert. She slept close to a small fire, wrapped in animal skins, occasionally looking out at the stars wheeling in the heavens above, and crying silent tears when she was able to cry at all.

On the fourth day from the city of Thebes, she passed into the region known as Saquarah. The pyramids and temples of the dead rulers stood silent and neglected in the biting desert winds. She passed through a small temple complex and took shelter there during a sandstorm. The wind bit her flesh and the sand scratched her. She huddled in her blanket in spite of the heat, waiting for the fury of the desert to exhaust itself.

The next day she stayed in the temple ruins until the heat of mid day had passed and then resumed her march. Her limbs were sore and the exhaustion of days in the elements was beginning to take their toll. Her flesh was red and painful. Her water was almost gone, and her rationing of it had left her in a constant state of thirst. She no longer walked with determined steps. Instead, she simply trudged doggedly onward, not knowing where she was going or why. She moved mechanically, as if she were sleepwalking. While her feet were baked in her boots by the desert sands, her mind wandered in the green fields of Greece.

As she passed over another series of trackless dunes she came upon a sight that surprised her. There, in the middle of the desolation was a ramshackle old wooden structure. It stood low in the sand, nearly buried on one end.

She studied it andnoticed the unusual lean of the roof, sloping down at a gentle angle. It was then that she realized the structure was notsome shack, but an elaborate cover for another object. In any event it was shelter for another night. She began to move towards it, her hand on the hilt of her katana.

She was ten paces from the entrance when a wizened voice sounded behind her.

"Nice artwork," it said, referring to the tattoo on her back.

In a flash she had turned with her sword in her hand. At the same instant, the man behind her had raised a weapon of his own.

"Ah,ah," the old man said. He was tall and proud, despite his advanced age. He was dressed in faded old pants and tunic, with a tattered vest of thick material covering his body. All of it covered in a thin layer of dust that blew off him like smoke in the desert wind. His weapon was compact but menacing looking, like a cross bow with the bow removed, still the confidence of the man holding it told Gabrielle she should respect him and the situation.

The man's eyes were a deep thoughtful brown, filled with youthful clarity, while his skin was dark from years in the sun and had the look of old parchment. His thick beard was a pale gray, almost white and unkept and his long gray hair was tied back in a thick tail that fluttered in the breeze.His right hand, which gripped the handle of his weapon, had a silvery steel glint, and Gabrielle saw the jointed fingers of an armored glove.

His confident expression slowly gave way to wonder and surprise as he looked at her. His dark eyes studied Gabrielle closely, and his confident smirk began to transform into a smile.

"We have got to stop meeting like this," he finally said in a soft, somewhat tired voice. Gabrielle frowned in puzzlement.

The man released his hold on the front of his weapon, and passed his hand thoughtfully over his head.

"What happened to your hair?" he continued. "It looked much nicer when it was long."

Gabrielle blinked.

"Got rid of the giant toothpick, I see," the man continued. Then he frowned at Gabrielle's clothing. "Though I'm not too sure about the outfit." He finished in a tone that was more fatherly disapproval than mocking challenge. "Or the tattoo."

Gabrielle looked down at her clothing. Brown leather halter and leather belt over short breaches.

"How?" She stammered before she could stop herself.

The man was still staring at her in wonder.

"Not a day older," he said to himself. His weapon finally lowered, and his left hand came out in a staying gesture. "Easy now," he said in a calm gentle voice.

Gabrielle stopped breathing and the world suddenly snapped into crystal clarity in spite of her exhaustion. She remembered that voice! Her hand wavered and then she lowered the sword slowly, studying the man closely. Through the thick whiskers of his beard, she could see the remnants of some scarring on the right side of his face. As if he had been through a fire of some kind in the past. She couldn't remember ever meeting him before and yet there was something about him. Something deep in the recesses of her mind that spoke to a familiarity. A sense of trust existed between her and this stranger though she couldn't understand why.

The man looked at her for a few moments longer and then let his weapon swing all the way around and hang at his back, his knowing smile grew.

"Bugging the daylights out of you, isn't it?" he said.

"Who are you?" Gabrielle finally asked.

The man smiled and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Then he looked ather again.

"A friend you don't know you have." He said, raising an eyebrow.

At those words, Gabrielle's eyes went a touch wider in surprise. She wasn't about to relax completely yet. Her eyes narrowed.

"That didn't answer the question," She said suspiciously.

The man shrugged and laughed out loud. "It's like listening to a recording. Same dance, different song." he said and then he broke into a severe fit of coughing. Once he gained control of himself he pointed to Gabrielle.

"Do you still have that little gift," he said. "The one Mavon gave you at Cyerna?"

Again, Gabrielle caught her breath. "How do you know about that?"

"Have you got it here?" the man persisted.

Gabrielle reached into her bag and removed an old, beaten wooden case, about the size of a spice box, and held it up.

"I'm amazed that you never had to use it," the man said. "I figured a year or two at most and you'd have opened it for sure."

Gabrielle looked at the box, and then at the man. She nodded knowingly. "You're a member of the Order of the Phoenix." she said.

The man stared ather for a moment and then burst out into a long fit of good natured laughter. He let himself settle onto the ground and kept on laughing for what seemed a long time, amused by some personal joke, only occasionally saying "Mavon, oh Mavon, you're killing me."

"The Order of the Phoenix?" he continued once he had regained his composure enough to speak. "Is that what that reject of the dramatic arts told you? Oh, that's rich." And he laughed again.

Gabrielle looked so genuinely hurt at this that the man stopped laughing as quickly as he could.

"He returned Xena's chakram," Gabrielle protested. "When we had no idea where it had gone. He justshowed up at Cyerna and returned it to her."

"He _swiped_ it from you." The man corrected her. "And then gave it back in a manner that would reinforce the sincerity of his actions. He was always a sneaky little bastard."

"Then this box was never really dangerous?" Gabrielle asked. With everything that she had been through, what was one more disappointment.

Still, she had been so careful not to lose it, or let anyone else know about the box, for fear it might be something akin to the box that Pandora was fated to bear. She had more than lived up to the obligation that Mavon had entrusted her with, only now to find that it was all an elaborate hoax.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." The man said quickly, seeing the look on Gabrielle's face. His voice softened sympathetically. "That little box could have been quite dangerous if used casually. For all of us." He shrugged. "Unless the time was right."

"What's init?" Gabrielle asked, looking down at the old beaten box in her hand.

The man smiled.

"Open it, and find out," he said. He got to his feet and watched her intently.

Gabrielle looked at him and down at the box in her hand. When she looked back up her expression was uncertain. The man only shrugged.

"It's your choice, Gabrielle." He said. "But now, after thirty years, I think you _need_ to know what's inside."

Gabrielle stared into the strangers' eyes, measuring him carefully but he only smiled, nodding once. "Go on."

Gabrielle looked down at the box again. It was battered and tarnished. The fine finish and ornate workings were all but rubbed away. The wax seal that had closed it originally was barelyvisible now. Only time had sealed the hinge on the lid, keeping it from falling open.

With her heart thumping in her ears, she grasped the box in both hands, closed her eyes, and gently forced the lid up.

Nothing happened. There was only the expectant silence and the shifting of the desert sands

Gabrielle opened one timid eye, and then the other as she stared down at the contents.

There was a small cylindrical object, about the length and diameter of her middle finger, tarnished almost black with time, and beneath that, a small, square piece of clear dusty glass.

She lifted the cylinder and turned it over in her fingers curiously. Then she looked at the man, he merely shrugged. "Dead power cell," he said. "It wasn't meant to wait thirty years." He took it from her and mulled it over in his own fingers thoughtfully.

Then Gabrielle removed the other object.

It was lighter and smoother than glass, and did not have the characteristic coolness of it, nor did it feel brittle as glass tended to be. In fact, it felt extremely durable. She pried it out with her fingernail and looked at it. On the reverse side were markings that she had never seen before, and to her amazement, an image of herself. As she studied this, she noted a series of thick and thin lines at the bottom, packed closely together forming a pattern. That pattern seemed to reach out and hold her attention.

Her eyes widened as she looked at it and then a whirlwind arose in her mind. It was like a dam bursting. The thoughts, experiences,and memoriesbehind that wall were flooding through her brain. There was a sharp pain, and she clasped the sides of her head and doubled over, a cry burst from her lips. She dropped to her knees.

One hand planted itself in the soft earth, and a groan of effort emanated from Gabrielle as if she were struggling with a heavy burden. Her breath came in rasps and her whole body shivered.

"Gods," she managed to gasp.

The man said nothing. He simply watched Gabrielle intently, not moving to assist her.

"No," Gabrielle gasped. Her breathing was slowing now, but her face was still turned towards the ground.

"Too much," she gasped. "Just too much all at once." Her fingers flexed in the sand a few times and then she rose to her knees. Her eyes were shut tight and her face was taught from the strain of something deep within.

"Gabrielle?" The man stepped over and knelt down beside her.

Gabrielle was pale, either from shock, or from some unholy revelation.

She heaved a deep breath. "It's like being blind, and then suddenly, you can see everything. Colors, details, the sunlight shining in your face, all at once." She gasped. Her hand reflexively found the man's shoulder and she opened her eyes wearily. "I'm alright," she said. Then her eyes widened.

A look of dawning crossed her face as she stared at him. A hopeful smile appeared.

"Tyrion?" she asked. "Tyrion Darquefyre? Is that you?"

The man held his arms out expectantly. He had a warm smile behind his thick whiskers.

Gabrielle practically leapt into his waiting arms, hugging him as tightly as she could. There were tears in her eyes.

"Hey, Sweets," Tyrion whispered in her ear. He lifted her from the ground. A sob burst from Gabrielle's lips at the sound of her old nicknameand she squeezed him even harder. "Been a while."

He finally let her feet back to the ground, and Gabrielle looked at his face, as if taking it all in. Then she felt cold metal on her cheek, and her own hand strayed from his face to cover his, and felt the metal. She looked down at his hand and realized that it was a prosthetic limb. The metal continued down his forearm and vanished into the sleeve of his shirt.

Gabrielle's eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at.

"Tyrion," she said in horror. "What have you been through?"

Tyrion's gaze softened. "Long story." He shrugged.

Gabrielle let her hand travel up his arm and to his shoulder. She felt hard, unyielding metal through his shirt.

She looked up at him, her eyes still glistening with emotion. Suddenly the hell she had lived through in Japa seemed years away.

Tyrion pulled her to him again and held her. "Damn, it is so good to see you again." He whispered fiercely.

When they finally parted again, Tyrion looked at her face closely.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "What do you remember?"

Gabrielle was smiling. Her hand reached up and caressed Tyrion's cheek and then her smile faded and was replaced with a haunted expression.

"I remember everything," she said in a fearful whisper. "By the Gods, I remember it all! I remember Cyerna! I remember Tantarus Drift, Karl, Silas, Nicky, I remember everything!"

"That's good," Tyrion said softly. "Looks like Nicky did her job well." He stepped back, his hands still on her shoulders and looked her up and down. He saw the chakram hanging at her side, different from the one that Xena had held all those years ago.

"Where do you find those things?" he asked, smiling.

"It was Xena's," Gabrielle said dropping back into the shadow of her despair.

Tyrion saw this.

"Gabrielle?" he asked gently. "Where's Xena?"

Gabrielle reached into her bag and drew out the urn. She placed it in Tyrion's hands.

Tyrion looked down at the container and then back up into Gabrielle's eyes.

Gabrielle only nodded as fresh tears began to form.

"She's dead," she whispered in a choked voice. The tears streamed down her cheeks and she covered her mouth.

Tyrion pulled her against his chest reflexively, the reality still sinking in. His sadness mingled with disbelief.

"I could have brought her back," Gabrielle sobbed. "But she wouldn't let me do it."

After that, Gabrielle said nothing for a long time. She just stayed in his embrace while the emotion poured out of her.

Tyrion let his good hand stroke her hair and rocked her gently.

After a long while, Tyrion led Gabrielle towards the shack. She was completely spent and followed him like a weary child. The walls of the shack covered the hull of the ship that lay half buried in the desert sands. Tyrion stepped through the hatch and led Gabrielle to a small berth in the rear of the cabin. In it sat a simple cot and some miscellaneous odds and ends.

Gabrielle didn't resist. Her spirit was so drained from everything she had been holding in. She let her self be led to the cot, and lay down. Tyrion sat down next to her and leaned her weapons against the wall. Then he covered the woman in a warm blanket.

"Rest," he said gently. She looked up at him with such childlike need that it broke his heart. Her strength was sapped and her will had finally given over completely to grief.

"Go to sleep, Sweets," Tyrion said in a voice so gentle it made her lids heavy. "I'll be here if you need anything." And he began to hum a soft tune that Gabrielle remembered from long ago and many miles away. Her eyes closed and she fell into a deep sleep.

_The lights were strobing to the rhythm of booming music as she moved into the cavernous hall. All about her, people were dancing with abandon, or seated around illuminated tables, sipping drinks. She felt the bass rhythms reverberating in the pit of her stomach. All the people were cloaked in shadows, and the light splashing along the walls was the color of blood._

_Some faces seemed demonic, lit from the illumination of pale blue inside the surface of the glass tables. Faces stared out at her from the shadows._

_She edged her way through the throng, watching as men and women leapt and danced, writhing to the rhythm of the music. It was music unlike any she had ever heard in the past. Rich and loud, like incessant thunder of varying pitch and tone._

_As she passed through a final clot of patrons, she saw the bar at the far end. Behind the bar were two figures. One was a massive dark skinned bald man whose frame seemed to be a mass of powerful muscles. His head bobbed to the music as he served drinks with his meaty hands. The other was a short petite red haired girl, about her age, with green eyes and delicate features._

"_Nicolla? Silas?" Gabrielle mouthed._

_Nicolla looked up and saw Gabrielle standing amidst the crowd. She waved her hand, gesturing for the warrior to come forward. Several other people sat at the bar, sipping drinks or talking._

_Silas looked up and his grin spread across his face.  
"Hey, Sweets!" he greeted her in his booming voice, and he motioned her forward._

_Gabrielle stepped up towards the place, smiling in relief. The world about her seemed to slow down to a crawl. She looked to the right and saw Felix and Mavon seated there, nursing drinks. A fifth figure sat between them, her back to Gabrielle while she conversed with Mavon. Mavon smiled at something the person said, then looked up and saw Gabrielle._

_At the same moment, Felix also saw her and nodded in greeting. He gave the person next to him a nudge._

_The figure was tall and lithe, with thick raven hair. She wore a simple black jacket and blue denim pants. Her boots were black beneath the cuff of the jeans. She turned to face Gabrielle. Those familiar blue eyes stared at her in wonder and delight and Gabrielle stopped dead._

"_Xena?" she asked. Her voice seeming to drown in the cacophony around her. She saw Xena's blue eyes staring back into hers, and she smiled in greeting so warm that Gabrielle felt a lump in her throat._

"_Gabrielle."_

Gabrielle cried out and sat upright on the cot.

"Xena!"

A hand fell on her shoulder.

"Easy now," Tyrion said softly.

She looked up at him, still sitting where he had been when she fell asleep.

She looked up at him, a hint of desperation in her eyes, and then they began to fill with tears again.

"It was just a dream," Tyrion said softly. "Go back to sleep."

She lay back down and looked at Tyrion's wizened face for along moment.

"Have you been there this whole time?" she asked.

Tyrion shrugged and nodded. "Sleep," he said firmly.

Gabrielle stared at him for a while longer and then closed her eyes again.

Tyrion sat there, studying her face as she slept. She was still so much a child, even more so now in his advancing years. In spite of her skills and experience, she was still a child.

"So much like Lynette, it's scary," he thought. "If Lynette had lived, I'd probably have grandchildren her age by now. He smiled at that. A man like him, with as much blood on his hands as he had spilt, playing granddad to someone's children. That was a laugh. He let his good hand brush the hair from her face and listened to her breathing, now slow and steady. Then he shut off the dim light in the berth and leaned back against the wall. Eventually his own eyes closed as well.

When Gabrielle awoke the second time, she was alone in the tiny room. A first, her memory of the previous day was a bit fuzzy. Then it all came into focus. She stared about the tiny berth in confusion before rising and moving out into the main cabin.

Tyrion was there, bustling about in the small cooking station. There were already several plates of food on the table.

"Did you sleep?" Gabrielle asked in a tired voice.

"When you get to be my age," Tyrion said, not looking back at her. "You tend to stay awake. There's always the off chance that sleeping will feel so good, you won't want to wake up."

There was a sizzling sound, and a toothsome smell filled the room. Gabrielle sat down at the small table, across from Tyrion, trying to look over his shoulder.

"I'm not that much younger than you," she said.

Tyrion looked at her quizzically and then smiled. "It must not be the age then," he said. "It must be the mileage."

"You saved her," Gabrielle said in a subdued voice. "You saved us both."

Tyrion turned back to face Gabrielle, sitting there staring at the table top.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Tyrion put a hand on hers. "It's okay." He said. "It was a long time ago, and far away. It's all over now."

"Not for me," Gabrielle said grimly. "For me, it was just a few years ago."

Tyrion looked up at her and frowned.

"It's been damn near thirty years, Sweets," he said. He set a plate of thin cakes down betweens them and turned back to the cooker.

"Thirty years since I last saw you two." He finished. "How is it you don't look a day older?" He looked back at Gabrielle and continued. "And what in the hell happened to your hair?"

Gabrielle smiled and sighed. "That's another long story."

"Well," Tyrion said. The next tray had thin slices of cooked meat. "Then we have a great deal to catch up on." He spun back to the cooler and procured a pitcher of orange liquid. He set a glass of it in front of Gabrielle, then seeing her expression he sighed. "Would you like something a little stronger?" he asked.

"Would it help?" She asked.

"Probably not," Tyrion replied.

Gabrielle smiled and took a small sip of the juice.

"So, Tyrion," Gabrielle asked. "What are you doing out here?"

"Retired," Tyrion said simply. He began dishing out the morning repast between the two of them. "Did my duty and called it quits abouttwenty years ago." He took a drink of juice and looked around at the room. "Took my pension and bought this."

"What about the Phoenix?" Xena asked.

"Got shot right out from under me." Tyrion replied easily.

"What about the others?" Gabrielle pressed. "Silas, Mavon, Felix, and Nicolla?"

Tyrion leaned back thoughtfully. "Well, no one has seen Mavon for about twelve years. He packed up one day and just vanished. Probably went bush somewhere, like me. Felix is doing well, got married and had a couple of children. Last I heard, he was living on Megelia. Has a small farm or something. Terrorizing his grandkids." He shrugged. "Nicolla passed away about ten years ago. The mental strain can take its toll on a telepath. She went to sleep one night and just didn't wake up." He sighed. "We had a good twenty years together."

Gabrielle looked down sadly. She had loved Nicolla. In the short time they had known one another the two of them had become friends. Then she smiled. "She finally got you, huh?" she asked.

"Yeah," Tyrion smiled. "She cornered me one night and the rest was history."

"What about Silas?"

"Silas died when the Phoenix crashed," Tyrion said. "Three years after we helped you out."

Gabrielle felt the emotion rising again. She could see Silas's face, dark skinned and grinning. It had been Silas who had started calling Gabrielle 'Sweets'. He had been a massive man, built like any three, with bulging arms and a strength that Gabrielle had always believed rivaled even Hercules. Despite all his size and ferocity, he had been a teddy bear where Gabrielle had been concerned. Once she had convinced him, he had becomea defacto uncleto her. She remembered fondly their long conversation on the way back from Tantarus Drift. He had a deep booming voice and a laugh that shook walls.

"He never stopped thinking about you," Tyrion said quietly. "He was the last one to leave when we got you back to your camp that morning. I didn't think he was going to come back with me."

"You were there?" Gabrielle asked. "When we woke up that morning?"

Tyrion nodded. "I needed to know that you two were going to be alright. So we waited and watched. That was when I heard you two bitching about the chakram gone missing." He looked at Gabrielle and smiled. "I thought we were in trouble at that point. Mavon told me later, what he and Nicolla had actually done." He chuckled. "I could have strangled them both."

"Because you weren'tsupposed to interfere," Gabrielle said.

"They bothfelt that, in your case, an exception was required," Tyrion nodded. "After I finished ranting at them about it, I realized I was mad because I hadn't thought of the idea." He sighed. "Two years later, the Confederated Systems broke up, and we had a real busy time."

"Broke up?" Gabrielle said. "How?"

Tyrion shrugged. "Politics have never been my strong suit," he admitted. "It just went to hell real fast. Old Number Seven rolled with it, working evacs on several worlds for the better part of that next year. Then at Ganamine, we went in for a civilian evac and caught ground fire on the way down. That was when Silas bought it and I got this." He held up his prosthetic hand. "Mavon and Felix got me out of there and we jumped the next drop ship that made it down. I spent three months in the Care center at Tantarus before the surgeries and rehab were done. That's where Nicky finally cornered me."

Gabrielle caught her breath at the mention of Silas's death and a tear fell down her cheek.

Tyrion put his live hand over hers. "The last thing he said before we ditched was: "I guess Sweets doesn't get another ride in this old tub." Can you imagine that? Talking about my ship that way." He smiled.

Gabrielle laughed in spite of her tears.

At that point, Tyrion decided that a change of subject was in order.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly. "What are you going to do now?" He looked at her. "I still want to know how it is that you haven't aged, and I'm falling apart at the seams?" He smiled. Then another fit of coughing overcame him for a moment.

"Are you alright?" Gabrielle asked, looking at the old man in concern. Something in the rattle of his cough made her nervous.

"Fine, fine," Tyrion said, breathing deeply. "It's just that whole growing old thing."

Gabrielle smiled, though her eyes still showed the concern. "You're not that old."

"Girl," Tyrion retorted. "I'm sixty-four years old. That's well worn in on any planet."

"Well," Gabrielle shot back. "I'm about fifty, I think."

"And never did I see a finer looking middle aged woman," Tyrion retorted.

Gabrielle smiled again but there was no genuine humor in it.

Tyrion sat down across from her and put his hand on hers.

"It'll take some time, Sweets," he said sympathetically. "But eventually, you will be alright."  
Gabrielle looked at him with pain in her expression. "It doesn't feel that way."

"How does it feel?" Tyrion asked.

"Empty," Gabrielle replied darkly. "Completely empty. There's this blackness in my soul, like someone took the best parts of me and ripped them out." She sniffed. "She didn't have to do that." She said.

"And because she did," Tyrion said evenly. "You're angry with her."

"No!" Gabrielle said in shock. "I could never be angry with her. She did the right thing! It saved the souls of so many people!" It sounded like a stump speech, and Tyrion knew it to be just that.

"But not yours," Tyrion said again. "It left youwounded in a way you didn't think possible."

"Yes," Gabrielle hissed. She got to her feet and paced about for a few moments, then she turned to face him again. Her green eyes blazed suddenly. "Why did she do it? Why?" her voice suddenly rose in pitch and fury. She stood up from the table and resumed pacingas a flood of emotion suddenly fed the adrenaline into her system.

"After everything we'd been through, she just gave it up!" she stammered. "She just left me! I loved her and she left me!"

"And now you hate her," Tyrion said. "Just a little bit. Because she put something else first, ahead of you?"

"Yes!" Gabrielle shouted. Tyrion rose and stepped over to her.

"I hate her," Gabrielle whispered. The haunted look was in her eyes again, this time with tragic realization. "Gods, Tyrion, a part of me hates her for it." It was the kind of betrayal that never would have been conceived by her in a million years, but there it was laid out in the open for all to see, just like her soul. The pain was etched into her face as she fell back into one of the seats, staring at her own hands as if she had been the one to end her best friends' life.

"What have I done?" she asked aloud.

Tyrion knelt down in front of her, watching the tears flowing from her eyes again. "How can I say that I loved her when I hate her so much right now?"

Tyrion wiped a tear from her cheek and smiled gently.

"I don't think you hate her, Sweets," he said quietly. "You never did and you never will. I know you loved her with all your heart."

"Then why do I feel this way?" Gabrielle asked desperately. "I just want to – " she couldn't put it into words. It was so all consuming that she simply clenched her fists until her nails bit into the flesh of her palm. The sudden pain of that caused her to stop. She looked down and saw the blood in the small wounds on her open hand, and then up at Tyrion, desperate for the grief to be over.

"You want to lash out at everyone and everything," Tyrion said gently. "You don't hate Xena. You hate the fact that Xena isn't with you anymore." He touched the wounds on her hand.

"This pain takes your mind off of it," he continued. "It gives the feeling form and substance. Something you can see and understand. That's why people get like Xena used to be when they lose someone they love."

He looked up at her pained face.

"It tells you that you really did love her, with everything that makes up who you are," he continued. "And the best parts of you are crying from the torment of it. You haven't lost anything, baby. You couldn't, even if you wanted to."

Perhaps she had been too worn from her journey or too weak from lack of food and sleep. Maybe the substance of what she felt hadn't found its proper expression or the correct time for release. Or maybe all the things in her soul had finally reached some kind of critical mass. Whatever the cause, Gabrielle let out a wailing cry as she fell into Tyrion's embrace once again. She wept and screamed and struck at the unyielding steel of his arm, feeling the jolt of fire in her hand with each hit, letting all the sorrow flow freely for the first time. In spite of his advanced age, Tyrion's strength had not diminished over the years. Tyrion held her tightly and let her wear herself out in her grief.

After what seemed like a small eternity, her cries died to soft exhausted sobs and she lay like a child in his arms. When she pulled away from his chest, she saw crimson stains on his tunic, and Tyrion saw the red around her eyes was actually blood. He reached up and took a small cloth from the table and gently wiped the blood from her face.

"That's how I know you don't hate her," he whispered, and he let her lay back against his chest. After a time, she again fell into exhausted sleep. He lifted her from the floor and carried her back to the tiny berth that was his bedroom and lay her there. He paused at the hatch and looked down at her, wondering how many more times she would exhaust herself like this before she would begin to heal.

She didn't know how long she had slept this time around, or how many more times the grief would overwhelm her like that. All Gabrielle knew when she awoke, was that she hurt, physically hurt. She rolled over and sat up on the cot, trying to work through the exhausted stiffness in her limbs. Then she got slowly to her feet and staggered to the refresher stand. The reflection in the small mirror surprised and frightened her. She was pale and drawn out, almost haggard. And around her eyes was nothing more than dark purplish bruises. As she looked more closely, she could see tiny pinpoints of dark red on the surface of the skin, just beneath her eyes. Her exposed skin was a deep red from the sun and it was blistering in many places. Every movement of her body sent tiny rivulets of pain through her.

She splashed cool water on her face and looked back up, weary to the bone.

A self deprecating smile touched her lips.

"Who's the brave one now," she whispered in a hoarse voice.

"You always were," another voice said quietly, and a hand touched her shoulder, coll and comforting.

Looking up in the mirror, she saw Xena, standing beside her and looking at her with a mixture of pride, touched with pity. She smiled.

"I'll never leave you Gabrielle," she said. "And even though I can't always be there for you the way that I was, I will always be with you."

Gabrielle smiled weakly. "Knowing that helps," she said. "But it isn't enough."  
Xena stroked her hair. "I'll be waiting for you, Gabrielle. We are destined to be together, and we always will be. Don't mourn me any more. You wouldn't want me to do this if our places were reversed, would you?"

Gabrielle shook her head. "No."

"Right," Xena said.

"I don't know if I can go on alone," Gabrielle admitted.

"You have to," Xena answered softly. "You have to carry on. Otherwise what we did in the past, everything we've been through, doesn't mean anything."

Gabrielle smiled sardonically. "No pressure."

Xena smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Gabrielle. Please don't blame yourself. You did everything right. You always have. I love you, Gabrielle."

When Gabrielle looked up again, Xena was gone.

She washed her face off, and moved out into the cabin of the ship. Tyrion was nowhere to be seen, but she heard voices beyond the hatch, drifting in from outside.

She looked out and saw Tyrion speaking with another man, a trader of some kind. They gesticulated for a few minutes before the trader handed Tyrion a bundle of cloth, then he made off, trailed by two camels, tied on tethers.

Tyrion took the cloth and made his way back towards the ship. He stopped and doubled over in a fit of coughing that frightened Gabrielle. She darted out into the setting sun and helped the old man up.

"Tyrion?" she asked. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Tyrion said. "Just old person issues."

"Old person issues?" Gabrielle repeated.

"Yeah," Tyrion replied. "I'm an old person, and I have issues." He winked and forced a smile.

Gabrielle helped him back into the ship. Once Tyrion had seated himself and had some water he sighed. Then he reached into a small cabinet. After rummaging about for a while, he found what he was looking for - a small paper box. He drew out a cigarette and lit it.

Gabrielle looked at him, her eyes still puffy and dark underneath from the previous morning.

"Tyrion," she said. "Please don't play strong with me right now. I need to know what's going on?"

Tyrion sighed. "I'm old, Sweets. You know what tends to happen when people get old."

Gabrielle finally realized what he was saying. She sat down and stared at him.

"How long?" she asked.

Tyrion shrugged. "A month, a year, who knows?"

"Don't you have medical equipment on this ship, like the stuff you had on the Phoenix?"

Tyrion smiled. "Sweets, technology can only do so much." He lifted his prosthetic hand up to make his point. "That's why I chose this area. The dry air makes it easier for me to get by."

Gabrielle stared at him for a long moment. "I don't want to lose any more friends, Tyrion."

Tyrion shrugged. "You've skipped a generation," he said. "It can't be helped."

Gabrielle was about to protest when Tyrion held up his hand.

"I don't want to argue with you, Sweets," he said. Then he smiled. "But I do want to know how it is that you've stayed so young?"

Gabrielle smiled and launched into a complete recount of her travels since the battle of Cyerna, so long ago.

It was evident that the telling of those tales was painful for her, as she relived everything she and Xena had experienced up to Xena's death on Japa. When she finished, Tyrion took down a dusty bottle of amber liquid and fill two small glasses.

"Here," he said. Then he settled back and sipped at his thoughtfully, absorbing all the news he had just heard.

Gabrielle sniffed the liquid and smiled in recognition.

"Old Number Seven?" she asked.

"Absolutely." He replied. "This little bit here, is all that's left of Silas's personal stash. It should go down much easier since it's had thirty years to age."

Gabrielle took a sip, and grimaced. The taste was still strong and alkaline, but much smoother than before. Once she got past the initial bite, the flavor was actually quite good.

"Why are we drinking this now?" she asked.

"Because it's the only time we can drink it." Tyrion replied. He lifted the bottle and looked at it, remembering. "This can only be openedon two very special occasions. First, when members of Old Number Seven get together after a break, it's a tradition.And second, when someone new joins up." Then he looked at Gabrielle, smiling. "It may have been thirty years ago when you dressed down the biggest man in the unit. But you did join. It's why Mavon gave you that box."

They finished the drinks in silence, then Tyrion pushed the bottle across the table in front of her.

"Take it," he said. "Traditions are best when they're passed on."

"Tyrion," Gabrielle said. "You're not going to die. We can find a way to get through whatever it is."

Tyrion sighed, and then motioned for Gabrielle to follow him. They went to the far end of the room, and Tyrion manually cranked open a hatch that sounded like it hadn't moved in years. After several good cranks on the lever, the hatch reluctantly slid aside revealing darkness beyond.

"After you," Tyrion gestured.

Gabrielle stepped into the room. The air was thick with dust and the forward section of the room, which was where the pilots couch used to be, was half buried in sand that had poured in from one of the shattered observation ports. Above and behind the pilots station, to Gabrielle's right, there stood a single medical couch and all the pertinent equipment that accompanied it.

As Gabrielle surveyed the neglected room, she noted that the monitors had all been smashed and the equipment destroyed as if someone had gone through the place and systematically broken each individual component with a hammer, or other blunt instrument.

"Tyrion?" she turned to him. When she saw the look on his face, she knew.

"I can't live forever, Gabrielle," he said. "And I never wanted to try. I've known for a while that this was going to happen. When I got here, ten years ago, I continued using the treatments that I had, and for a while it worked."

Her eyes were talking on a haunted look.

"Please," Tyrion pleaded. "Sweets, you need to understand. I'm tired. I've been through one side of Hell all the way to the other and back again. Everything I knew, everyone I loved is gone now, or might as well be. I want to be with them and I can't do that being some old fossil in the middle of a desert."

He put let his fingers stroke her cheek. "Everything has a time and place. My time is over, and my place to rest is right here."

Gabrielle looked to be on the verge of tears again, but Tyrion's face brightened suddenly. "Hey," he said. "None of that. I still have some time left. Don't worry about what's to come, enjoy what's here and now."

He put his arm around her shoulder and led her back out of the room.

They had a small meal in silence. Gabrielle looked at Tyrion closely. She suddenly saw the lines of age in his face, the weariness behind his eyes. He had a stiffness to his movements, like so many elder people she had seen in her travels. There was a sense of acceptance in his thoughtful eyes. She realized for the first time, the he was at peace, possibly for the first time in his long life.

"What are you looking at?" he asked with a smile.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. He smiled at her, and the grin became infectious.

She smiled back, and for the first time, she actually did feel something akin to joy.

After that, conversation began and continued without cessation for hours. They spoke of the old, the new, what might be, what had been.


	2. The Question

From the Phoenix Ashes C2

**The Question**

The night was late when the two of them finally decided that rest was in order. Tyrion graciously extended the use of his private room, and immediately began setting himself up a spot on the floor of the main cabin.

Gabrielle did not refuse the offered privacy of the room. Indeed, she looked forward to it. Aside from the comfortable bed, the room had an added bonus to it that she planned on indulging in the morning. The room had a shower.

Not a real shower with running water, but something called a sonic shower. When Nicolla had telepathically infused her with the knowledge she needed to blend in with the inhabitants of Tantarus Drift, she had been given a memory, (certainly Nicollas), of the sonic shower. With her grief exhausted after the previous days, her curiosity was awakening again. She sat up in the bed and stretched, yawning deeply, then she looked in the small, reflective cubicle. Quickly, she stripped off her clothes and stepped into the narrow booth. She stared at her reflection in the full length panels for a while. Noting the white lines where her clothing had protected her from the rays of the burning sun. It wasn't the contrast of her skin that caused her to pause. It was the shape of her body now, compared to then.

When she had first met Xena and had begun traveling with her, she had been a young, half starved willow reed of a thing, barely able to handle a hard day journey on foot. She had watched in awe as Xena or the Amazons of her adopted tribe had wielded weapons with precision and lighting accuracy while she had been hard pressed not to knock herself unconscious as she attempted to learn the art of the fighting staff she had chosen. Now she stared at a person she hardly recognized. The three reflective panels in the shower stall gave her a view of her entire body. Young, strong and supple, she noted the definition of muscle in her chest and stomach. The graceful curve of the dragon's wings across her shoulder seemed to accentuate the powerful tissue beneath her flesh, knotted like smaller versions of Silas's massive limbs. She could wield a sword, her sais, a quarterstaff, or any number of weapons with speed, confidence and grace. She had even, though she did not understand how, used Xena's chakram with moderate efficacy.

She looked down at the controls and switched them on. A warm lamp illuminated the stall, and began to soak into her skin, then the gentle vibrations began and she could feel it as days of dust and grime began to fall from her body.

The sonic shower made no noise that she could perceive, yet she felt it tingle as if millions of tiny fingers were working into her skin and to the muscles beneath. She put her head down and let the waves of soundless energy wash over her, allowing the gentle pressures to work away the knots and stiffness in her shoulders and arms.

It was a strange sensation to feel the heat, feel the apparent illusion of water spraying your flesh and yet remain totally dry. It took some getting used to, but she accepted the odd feeling, letting her mind wander.

She adjusted her position beneath the emitter so that the sensation moved down from her shoulders to her lower back, and then back up again, doing slow gentle push ups on the opposite wall. The blisters on her shoulders and back broke without pain, and she felt the wet of the water beneath the burned flesh. She leaned her face against the cool wall and let the sensation work on the small of her back.

"I need time," her mind said. "I need time to find myself again."

There were so many things she could do. So many things she wanted to do.

"So many things I still want to learn." She thought, and her eyes snapped open. Instantly she was taken back in her memory to a place and time thirty years distant. A fortress city, where her best friend was held captive, and a single man with gifts that were as amazing to her then as they were horrific. Her mind ran back to a point in time when she was no longer on her world. She was in a ship, soaring amongst the stars, on her way back to rescue Xena, accompanied by five of the most terrifying, yet humane people she had ever encountered.

_They were all in uniform now, Dark green uniforms with thick black combat vests. The four men had also painted their faces to resemble the lines and shadow of foliage. Their eyes glinted with eager desire as they approached the planet and the anticipated action. They looked fierce, demonic, like a portion of night come to snuff out the sun Tyrion stepped around the table of the Phoenix's little work area. Clustered about the small area, the rest of Old Number Seven edged in, studying the layout of the map before them._

_Tyrion stroked his goatee and looked from one to the other before starting._

"_As I stated on the Drift, this will be a multi objective op." he pointed at the image which showed a detailed scan of the Cyerna Castle interior lower levels._

"_Objective one: Infiltrate the lower level of the castle. _

_Two: Locate and extract Xena. _

_Three: Locate and extract any other detainees._

_Four: Set the T.D._

_Five: Extract and R.T.B with the Xena and survivors."_

_He looked around the table. "Any questions so far?"_

_Silas looked down at the map, absorbing it into his memory. "What's out mode of entry?" he asked in growling voice. He took a quick swig of his beer and resumed his study of the map._

_Tyrion pointed to a small depression at the base of the outer wall._

"_We'll approach from the west, up to the edge of the trees here, then move into the river and close with the insertion point. There's a culvert to allow fresh river water to enter a cistern at the base of the wall, here. A mole was using this as his means of entry and exit to report to the contingent here, on the Southern edge of the forest. We'll use it for insertion and extract. Most of the southern force was decimated when we evacuated the civilian population, so I doubt of the command staff has been made aware of it. Once inside the castle, we move up two levels directly to the holding area. We grab Xena and any other detainees, get them back down to the cistern chamber and extract via the same culvert."_

"_What type of window we looking at?" Felix added._

"_Smash and grab," Tyrion replied. "One hundred, twenty seconds in. Sixty second secure, one hundred, twenty seconds out."_

"_Run and shoot, huh," Mavon commented._

"_Absolutely," Tyrion replied. "Again, people, I cannot stress enough that we have to maintain a zero visibility profile. Anyone besides our confirmed objectives lays eyes on us, take them out."_

_He moved on quickly. "Fire team will be Silas and myself, Mavon and Felix." Then he turned to Gabrielle and Nicolla. "There's a small ridge about here." He pointed on the map. "There's a downed tree there that will make a good firing platform, if it comes to it. Gabrielle knows the spot I'm talking about. I want Nicolla there in sniper mode, with Gabrielle as the spotter. You two are our observation team. Do not engage the enemy without clearance from me. Understood?"_

_Nicolla looked at Gabrielle, then back at Tyrion. "No problem."_

_He looked around the room intently. "Now, if we get made on the way in, we abort, period. Even though we outclass these guys by about a thousand years, there are too many for a stand up fight. If we get made on the way out," he turned to Felix. "You're my Shepard. Get the wounded back to the ship. Mavon, Silas and I will fall back by position to the forest and then break and run."_

_He turned back to the girls._

"_Once the fire team and any survivors are at the forest, you two pull back and circle around the ridge like so." He traced a route around the back of the foothill to the landing zone. "I don't want you two seen. If everything goes right, you two won't have to fire a shot."_

_Nicolla pouted. "Why do you boys get to have all the fun?" she asked._

_Tyrion smiled. "Once we rendezvous at the ship, we blast off and get clear. Questions?"_

"_Five minutes is going to be pretty intense, Master Chief," Silas commented. "What if we encounter resistance in the building?"_

"_We do what we've always done," Tyrion smiled fiercely. "We improvise. Once we're in, we are not leaving until Xena and any other prisoners are secured. We won't get a second chance."_

_He handed out small pads with copies of the map mounted to them. Each person shoved them into the thigh pocket of their uniform pants._

"_All right." Tyrion continued. "Weapons prep and lockdown in fifteen minutes. Put on your game faces. We got a job to do."_

Gabrielle opened her eyes again. The sensation of massage had ceased. The cycle was done. She felt surprisingly refreshed, though the idea that she was still bone dry was still somewhat peculiar.

She looked at herself in the mirrored surface and discovered that she was clean. It was as if she had spent an hour in a bath. The soreness in her limbs was mostly gone, except for a gentle throbbing. She felt better than she had in weeks. Stretching, she stepped out, instinctively reaching for a towel that she did not need. When she saw her clothing, she grimaced. She may have been clean, but her garments certainly were not. She did not want to put them back on without trying to freshen them up a bit first. Instead, she surveyed her little room expectantly.

Tyrion had always kept some of his daughters' things with him as remembrances. It had been Lynette's uniform that she had worn in the assault on Cyerna. Perhaps he still had some of her clothes here now?

She searched the tiny room in vain, only finding his worn and faded clothing in several drawers on one wall. She sighed and took the blanket from the cot, wrapping it around her body to cover her nakedness. Then she stepped out into the main cabin.

"Tyrion?" she called out.

A note from him was written on a board stuck to the wall next to the entrance of the ship.

It read, "Went for food. Back in a couple of hours. T"

Gabrielle had no idea how long she had been in the shower, otherwise she would have forgone the blanket. However, the idea of Tyrion walking in while she stood there in all her glory, as amusing as it seemed, was definitely inappropriate. She quickly scanned the cabin, her eyes searching high and low for storage compartments. There were quite a few in this model ship, ideal for long relaxing voyages. It was designed to be a moveable dwelling for people who enjoyed the recreation of traveling from place to place, never staying for too long. She began opening the compartments, one after another.

After thirty minutes or so, she found what she needed. An old footlocker in a floor level cabinet. She removed it and opened the lid. Inside were articles of clothing, military and (she assumed) more casual. Grinning triumphantly, she lifted the heavy case and took it into the berth.

She threw the blanket to the floor, (no need for modesty when you're all by yourself), and began searching for something to wear.

She found a few articles that interested her. A pair of black boots that seemed about her size. Some pants like the ones she had used before, only these were a mixture of tan and brown, patterned to mimic the sands of the desert. She took these and slipped them on discovering the fit to be quite good. Next she discovered a jacket of the same pattern, the letters L. DARQUEFYRE embroidered above the left breast pocket and a simple black tank top that finished out the requirements of modesty. A belt of tan stitched canvas tightened the pants about her waist. Lynette had probably been a little thicker in that area of her body.

She fed the belt through the loops provided in the pants, and then looked down in the box again, enjoying her little treasure hunt. She found a hat at the bottom, same design as the rest of the uniform, and she took that as well. Her fingers brushed something hard and unyielding beneath it as she picked it up. She remembered the combat vests well from watching the team set up on the trip back to Cyerna. She removed that and inspected it. Then the gleam of silver caught her eye.

She set the vest to the side and removed a wide rectangular silver case about the size of a large saddlebag. It took only a moment or two to figure out the two latches that secured the lid. They popped open and she lifted the lid. A piece of oily cloth lay on the top of a soft foam pad. She pulled that aside and revealed the contents.

Inside was a disassembled weapon and energy clips, all perfectly preserved. She recognized the weapon as the one Tyrion had used in their attack at Cyerna.

Another memory flashed before her eyes.

_The soldier had a crossbow aimed at her chest, he was young, with dark hungry eyes._

"_I have him," Tyrion said._

"_You don't have to do this," Gabrielle said neutrally. "Just turn around and walk away."_

"_Shut up and get to your feet!" The soldier barked._

"_Goodbye," Tyrion said. _

"_Goodbye," Gabrielle repeated, and then the man's head seemed to explode from the eyebrows up. The spray covered the foliage behind him. He stood there for a moment, then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head and he collapsed in a quivering heap._

"_Target is down," she heard Tyrion say simply._

Gabrielle studied the weapon, lovingly stored in its case.

"You can take the warrior out of the war," she said musingly. "But you can't take the war out of the warrior."

She placed the oil cloth back on top of the components and resealed the case. A thought began to percolate in her mind. She considered for a moment more, and then took the case and left the room.

Tyrion stepped in through the hatch, turned and closed it.

"Hope you like rabbit stew," he was saying as he turned back. "It was all I could – " he stopped when he saw her.

She sat at the table, dressed in Lynette's desert BDU's, her arms crossed, leaning on the edge of the table. The two rabbits he had in his hands fell to the deck.

"What's this?" he asked when he found his voice again.

"I needed clean clothes," Gabrielle replied easily, but her green eyes were fixed on him with feline intensity.

Gabrielle leaned back and lifted the silver case from concealment behind the table, sliding it towards him.

"Will you teach me?" she asked. "How to use this?"

Tyrion was at a loss for words. He looked at Gabrielle, then at the case, and back at Gabrielle again. There was a wariness in his look as he studied his young friend.

"Why?" he asked. "What happened to you're belief in not taking a life?"

"I lost that sentiment a long time ago," Gabrielle replied.

Tyrion snorted. "I don't believe it."

"Remember Cyerna?" Gabrielle asked suddenly. "What you did on your own, before we had to leave?"

"Yes?" Tyrion said uneasily.

"You moved about undetected for hours, right under their noses and they didn't know it." Gabrielle said. "You even did it to me when I got here. You could have killed me before you knew you who I really was. I never would have known what hit me. And the tools you used when the four of you broke in and saved Xena." She snapped her fingers. "You planned that and it worked. I want to learn how to do those things. How to read a situation and plan for things like that."

"Okay," Tyrion replied. "I need for you to understand something, right now. Everything that I know is useless to you. My tactics are a direct result of the tools that my people developed over centuries of warfare. Most of what I know won't work for you."

"What?"

"You're world has a lot more developing to do before it's ready for my style of war games." Tyrion said.

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "They worked well enough at Cyerna?" She countered.

"I was lucky at Cyerna," Tyrion said. Then he placed his hands behind his back, as if preparing to recite a poem, and looked her in the eye. "By all accounts, what I attempted at Cyerna would be considered a suicide mission anywhere else. I should not have made it through that."

"You're saying to me that even the basics of the tactics you use would be wrong for me?" Gabrielle asked. "Tyrion, you're avoiding the issue."

"Yes," Tyrion replied. "I'm attempting to."

Then he picked up the two rabbits and moved over to the cooking station. He began to dress and clean them preparing them for the moderate pot in front of him.

Gabrielle stared at the place where he had been standing, her mouth slack, and a confused and irritated expression on her face.

"What makes you think I can't learn what you know and make it work?" she looked up at him exasperated. "What?"

Tyrion smiled as he cut the meat and dropped it into the pot of water.

"Take your time," he finished. "You're a smart kid. Think about it."

Gabrielle was seething with a rage she never knew she had. It seemed almost childish in a way, but at the same time, it was more intense. Tyrion had knowledge that she could use. Xena had always told her that knowledge was power. It would be foolish not to learn the skills Tyrion possessed.

"Tyrion," she said evenly. "I'm not asking."

"Well?" Tyrion countered. "I'm sure a nice girl like you wouldn't do something so foolish as demand it of me. That would be a mistake." His tone dropped to something a touch colder. "Be careful."

"What makes you think that you're so much better than I could be?" Gabrielle grumbled.

Tyrion turned around to face her. His expression was grave. "Gabrielle," he said quietly. "There is a reason why I know what I know. And there are hundreds of good reasons why other people do _not_ know what I know."

Gabrielle favored him with a dark look, obviously displeased with the remark. She got up and walked out of the ship into the sunlight.

Once she was gone, Tyrion looked at her, standing just outside the hatch. He sighed.

"This one's going to be ugly," he said to himself. Then he resumed his preparations.

Gabrielle stood out in the sun, fuming. Her eyes watched the blowing sands without seeing them.

Tyrion stepped to the hatch, his eyes scanned the endless expanse of desert absently as he considered what he was about to do. Then he looked at Gabrielle, facing away from him, her blonde hair whipping in the strong desert wind.

"She wants knowledge," he thought to himself. "Knowledge is power. Why is she so driven to this?" He knew the answer, and it made him shudder.

Gabrielle wanted knowledge to give her power, so she could take on one suicide mission after another. If she succeeded, then she could be a hero, and if she failed, so be it. He had seen many men and women in this state. Suicide jocks who had killed one person too many, or seen too many people die. In Gabrielle's case, she had lost her soul mate. The one lynch pin in her entire psyche was gone, now consigned to a small clay urn in her bag. To some degree, she had also lost her respect for life. Maybe not to the extent that Tyrion suspected, yet any bit was too much.

At most, Tyrion knew he had six months left before the illness that afflicted him would finally end his life. Could he put her off that long? He shook his head thoughtfully.

"No way in hell," he said to himself. There was only one thing for it, and he wasn't sure his old age would permit it, still, it was better than the alternative. Besides, he knew the longer he waited, the less likely he would be able to accomplish his goal.He turned back in and hit the master cut out switch, shutting down the entire power supply for the ship. If this didn't work, he couldn't have Gabrielle, with the knowledge she did have, going through the computer records.

Then he retrieved her chakram and katana from the berth, drawing out the long, silver blade and tossing the scabbard on the cot. On his way back out, he also retrieved his own sword.

It was a functional saber design, polished a mirror smooth silver, single edged with a wicked curved razor sharp blade and a short, sturdy cross guard. He studied the weapon for a few moments and then looked out again at Gabrielle standing there. She was in peak physical condition and he knew this. He studied her for a moment, gauging whether his strength was sufficient for the task he was considering. With a sigh he walked out into the sunlight.

He walked right past her and dropped her weapons at her feet.

She looked down at them in surprise and then back at Tyrion standing, a sword in his hand.

"Pick them up," he said simply.

A chill ran up her spine. He had a look in his eyes that she last remembered seeing aboard the Phoenix, just before the two of them went out to kill two hundred men.

"What are you doing?" she asked, a bit uneasy.

"Pick them up!" Tyrion barked. "Now!"

Gabrielle couldn't believe what she was hearing. Not so much in the words of the old man, but the tone. He was challenging her.

That brought up a fury in her that she could never remember feeling before.

"What are you doing?" she demanded

"You want to learn what I know?" Tyrion said angrily. "Then pick up your weapons, and I'll give you a lesson you'll never forget."

He walked towards her menacing. The years seemed to fall from him as he moved, and he was no longer the wizened old man she had found. It was Tyrion Darquefyre, the cold brutal killer she had seen all those years ago.

Gabrielle looked down at her weapons, lying at her feet, then back up into the cold eyes of her friend.

Tyrion's saber flashed upward like lightning, and Gabrielle felt the knick on her cheek.

"PICK THEM UP!" He bellowed.

Gabrielle put her hand to her cheek, and saw the blood on her fingers when she looked at them.

Gabrielle's green eyes went like frozen seawater. Slowly, she knelt down and picked up her weapons, sliding the chakram onto the hook at her waist. She raised her sword, the point aimed at Tyrion's chest.

She stepped carefully to the side, circling around Tyrion.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"You want a lesson from me, little girl?" Tyrion spat. "You're gonna get a hell of a lot more than you bargained for!"

He stepped in with an upward slash that Gabrielle just barely blocked. She stepped back quickly, her weapon in front of her.

"Be careful, old man," she growled.

"You think you can take me?" Tyrion smiled coldly. "Think I'm too old to kick your scrawny ass?"

He stepped in again with a horizontal series that drove Gabrielle back a few steps. She was having trouble gauging the old man's style. His moves were unlike anything she could remember seeing. It was similar to Xena's original style, but more fluid and much quicker. Quicker than any man of his years should be capable of.

She tried to set herself again, changing her stance, the weapon now vertical on her right side.

Tyrion smiled. "That won't work either," he said knowingly, and he quickstepped right and came in with a lightning slash that grazed her left leg. Her weapon came down in defense a moment to late before she spun back a few steps.

She looked down at her pants and saw the long slash in the fabric.

Now Tyrion paced back and forth, his weapon swinging in casual, lazy arcs as he locked his eyes on hers.

Gabrielle could stare down just about anyone, but Tyrion's eyes were like dark dead pools. She felt the desert grow cold in spite of the sun.

"You got nothing," Tyrion said in a deadly voice. "Was this the best Xena could do?"

He lunged in suddenly again, driving her back several steps as she desperately fought to stay his attacks. She realized with horror that he was not holding back. If she didn't defend herself, he _would_ kill her.

They parted again.

"What's the matter?" Tyrion mocked. He stepped in for a few more quick slashes. "Not enjoying the lesson?"

She would have spoken, but he spun around and came in again for a low slash that cut the laces on her boot.

"You got nothing on me, little girl," he taunted. "Xena could have held her own, maybe. You? You're easy pickings."

That awoke something in her. A fire began to smolder. Still she retreated as he pressed another exchange. This time, the saber slashed into the flesh of her left shoulder.

She spun with the hit and fell to her knee, looking back up at him, moving like a cat.

Back and forth. Back and forth. His eyes never left hers.

Then he stopped, standing perfectly still, his weapon pointed out in her direction.

"Come on," he beckoned. "You're in a hurry to get yourself killed. Why wait?"

"You're wrong," She replied icily.

"I doubt it," Tyrion retorted. "You're so desperate to rejoin Xena, you'll pick a fight with anyone. Even an old man. You in a hurry to die, little girl?"

"Stop that," Gabrielle said, rising to her feet.

"You had Xena." Tyrion taunted. "As brutal as she could be, she had the wisdom to know when and where to use it. Not you. Not even back for a week and you pick a fight with the first person you can. I guess maybe she wasn't as disciplined as I thought."

"That's not true," Gabrielle replied. The fire was growing in strength, deep within her heart.

"No?" Tyrion continued. Now his every word would be designed to bore right into Gabrielle's soul. He needed her to let loose with everything inside her. Not just the grief, but the rage and the pain as well. "Then why are you here, after she died? You just decided that you'd pick up where she left off, trying to save the world? And if you buy it in the process, oh well." He smiled darkly. "At least you'd be with her again. You should have been with her when she died. She might still be here if you had backed her up."

He stepped in again with his weapon, spinning and ducking beneath her cross swing, coming up and raking the weapon up her back. The fabric tore and she felt searing pain up her spine.

Gabrielle was in shock.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked. She felt the wetness on her back.

"Come off it," Tyrion shot back. "You just don't want to be thought of as second best. I know! You blew it, Sweets," he continued relentlessly. "You could have fought beside her, and you chose not to. You could have brought her back, and you chose not to!" He stepped in again and the blade clashed, this time with more force on Gabrielle's side. She was beginning to fight back more strongly.

"She told me," Gabrielle replied. "She begged me not to!"

"Likely story,' Tyrion spat.

"Stop it," Gabrielle growled. Tyrion saw that feline fire kindling in her green eyes.

"Come on," Tyrion said. "You got her chakram. I wouldn't be surprised if you had the rest of her gear stowed somewhere."

"Stop it!" Gabrielle shouted.

"You just can't stand being second best," Tyrion finished. "Second best to a second rate warrior."

With a cry, Gabrielle charged Tyrion, her katana whistling through the air. It slammed against Tyrion's blade, and came back again with deadly speed.

The two of them battled back and forth for a long time, their weapons clanging in the empty desert.

Tyrion was no slower for his age, and he moved with the speed and grace of a man thirty years his junior. The weapons drove against each other with such force, sparks erupted from the impacts. Then Tyrion finished the exchange with a spinning move that slashed into Gabrielle's right shoulder. She spun away and fell to the ground again.

"Come on!" He bellowed. "You're pathetic! No tribute to your dead friend here! She'd have at least had me break a sweat! Or was she as useless as you?"

He stepped up again.

Gabrielle rolled away from his blow and came back up swinging, only to have her blow deflected by Tyrion's prosthetic metal arm. Had he been a normal man, she'd have sliced right through to his rib cage and killed him. A small part in the back of her mind recognized this. But her fury was burning hotter than the desert wind, and she pressed her attack.

Another quick exchange, and suddenly, Gabrielle's feet left the earth, swept out from beneath her by a lightning quick move from the old man. She landed hard on her back, the wind blasting from her lungs.

Tyrion stepped back a few paces and smiled at her mockingly.

"I thought so," he scoffed. "Typical. All brute strength and ignorance. I don't know how the two of you survived as long as you did?"

Gabrielle kipped up to her feet and charged again, her weapon swinging now with furious abandon. Tyrion blocked her next few exchanges and then brought his weapon up with such speed and ferocity, that it severed her own weapon just above the hilt. There was a flash and the weapon fell from her hands in two smoking pieces.

A quick side kick to Gabrielle's middle, and the young woman went skidding back againin a spray of sand. It raked into the open wound on her back and she cried out in pain.

Tyrion swung his weapon in a few arcs and breathed deep. He stared at her with contempt. Then he kicked the broken shards of her sword away.

"Sorry, little girl," he spat. "You two never had what it takes. That's why my boys and I had to go in and clean up your mess."

Gabrielle kipped up again, pulling the chakram from her hip. It separated into two wicked looking knives and she came at him again. All she saw was red with her fury. She was exactly in the frame of mind Tyrion wanted her. If she beat him, and he died. Perfect. If she quit, she might have a chance to heal. Quit? Not likely. If she defeated him, and didn't kill him, well? At least they might be able to talk again, before she would have toleave.

Gabrielle charged again, swinging and slashing with the knives. Tyrion blocked and danced back as Gabrielle pressed her attack.

"Come on," he was taunting her. "Come on, kid! Show me what you got! You're an embarrassment to her, you know that!" His prosthetic hand slammed against her chest and she flew back a second time. She came up out of the blow, crouching low, with her knives out in a defensive posture.

"Tell me something?" Tyrion asked. "When Xena bought it. Was she as pathetic as you?"

Gabrielle let out ascream of pure primal rage and she leapt, weapons swinging and jabbing. There were tears in her eyes.

Without warning, Tyrion felt one blade slice through his shirt and against his false limb and then the other trapped his sword. Before he could react, he was down with the amazon woman atop him, her knee on his chest, one blade against his neck, the second was poised to stab down.

"Five hundred archers," she spat. "It took five hundred archers to slow her down! She sent me away so she could walk into that alone! When I found her, they had her strung up like game meat!" She was breathing hard, and the rage in her eyes was an emerald blaze of fury. "Their general cut off her head and put it on display like some trophy! I killed the bastard that did it to her, you understand!" She pushed the blade against his throat to the point where a trickle of blood began to flow. "Don't you ever speak about her like that again! You understand me? Never again!"

"And if I give you what I've got," Tyrion said calmly. "How many others will end up like this, hmm? How many people who knew her only as the wicked warlord? You gonna educate them all, just like you're educating me? Is that it? I give you what I know, and you won't need to talk. You can just eliminate anyone who doesn't share your lofty opinions!"

"It's the truth!" Gabrielle screamed. "I never knew the warlord! I knew the real Xena!"

"Yeah," Tyrion hissed. "Look at you now. She'd be so proud!"

At those words, Gabrielle's eyes widened with realization and she lowered the weapons.

The blade pulled slowly away from Tyrion's throat, and his hand went up to touch the small wound there.

"Sharp toy," he commented as Gabrielle stood and turned away from him.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

"Because you needed it," Tyrion replied. The old compassionate man was back. "And I had nothing to lose."

Gabrielle stared out at the desert. "A part of me wishes you never had landed that night," she admitted.

"You don't mean that," Tyrion said knowingly. "You think Xena would have stayed on the straight and narrow without you? I doubt it."

He got to his feet and stepped over to her, his hand coming down on her shoulder.  
"You are going to need time to get yourself together again." He said. "Come on, let's get you patched up."

He wanted to say more, but thought better of it and turned away, heading back to the ship. He stopped at the hatch and turned back to face her again.

"You can't stay here, Sweets," he finally admitted. "In the morning, you have to leave." And then he went in.

Those words stung deeper than any of the wounds she had just received. Gabrielle began to cry softly as she stared out into the vacant desert before her.


	3. The Letter

**The Letter**

The two of them didn't speak while Tyrion treated the several slashes he had given Gabrielle in their little bout. It was painfully clear that both of them regretted what had transpired, no matter how much it had been necessary.

Tyrion worked with his usual efficiency, and had Gabrielle bandaged up in a few minutes. Then he turned and went to the compartment next to the cooking station. He drew out the small paper box and walked out into the desert.

Gabrielle watched him walk out, trying desperately to think of something to say. Still, no words would come. She felt absolutely wretched. Looking down at her clothing, she suddenly realized that they did not belong on her. She went to the small cabin and changed into her own clothing, suddenly feeling more at home in them than she could ever remember. She looked down at the scabbard lying on the cot and sighed.

"That was so stupid," she sighed. "After all these years, you'd think I would have learned to keep my mouth shut." A self deprecating smile spread on her face again.

She sat in that tiny room for hours, her hands holding the urn as she stared at it, her mind wandering over all the things she had seen and done in her life. She didn't even realize she was weeping until a tear landed on her knee.

By the time she emerged again, still holding the urn in her hands, the sun had set and darkness loomed beyond the hatch.

She stepped out into the cool night air and found Tyrion seated against the wooden wall, a cigarette smoldering in his fingers.

He was gazing thoughtfully up into the stars, but his gaze was turned inwards.

"Tyrion?" Gabrielle said softly.

He started out of his reverie and looked at her.

"Hey, Sweets," he said. He noted the tear streaks on her cheeks. "You okay?"

She nodded and he gestured for her to join him.

She settled onto the ground next to him and stared up into the heavens.

"I want to thank you." Gabriele said quietly.

Tyrion's eyebrow rose. "What for?"

Gabrielle smiled the first genuine smile he had seen.

"For showing Xena and me how to fly," she said. "Though I don't think she appreciated it as much as I did."

Tyrion chuckled. "Yeah, she did get a bit green that first time up, didn't she?"

Gabrielle's smile widened, and something almost like a laugh escaped her lips. Then she looked up at the stars again.

"Well," she said. "She's flying now. Somewhere out there."

Tyrion looked at her and smiled compassionately. Then he looked at the urn in her hands.

"I know you don't want to," He said gently. "But you have to let her go, Gabrielle. You can't live your life carrying the weight of the dead. If there's one thing I can teach you. It's that."

Gabrielle looked down at the urn. "It's all I have left of her," she said.

"No, it isn't," Tyrion replied. "You have history. You have memories. You have all the feelings you felt for each other, good and bad. You don't need a pot full of ashes to hold on to those."

She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes shining in the pale light. He smiled at her and put his hand on her cheek. He gave her a nod of encouragement.

As if she were weighed down by a heavy burden, she got to her feet and began walking out to the nearest dune.

Tyrion watched as she stood, silhouetted against the rising moon. She stood, holding the urn in her fingers and then she removed the lid and lifted the vessel over her head.

The desert wind rose and Xena's ashes burst from the container, like something freed from a cage. It mingled with the floating sands and drifted like mist into the night.

When this was done, Gabrielle walked slowly back, hergaze sometimes drifting back up to that dune, a hopeful expression on her face.

She came back and sat down again next to the old man, looking down at the urn, now empty in her fingers. Slowly, it fell from her grasp and rolled away, coming to rest at her feet.

Tyrion put an arm around her and let her head come to rest on his shoulder.

"Now she's flying, baby," he whispered. "Now she's flying."

Gabrielle wept. She just wept silently while they sat there deep into the night.

Gabrielle awoke the next morning, felling more refreshed and alive than she had in weeks. It was as if a heavy load had been lifted from her shoulders.

She showered and dressed, splashing cool water on her face to help shake off the last bit of sleepiness and went out into the main cabin.

Tyrion was nowhere to be seen. She called his name, but received no answer. As she looked around, she found a large cloth bundle on the table. On top of it was a letter, written in a quick, neat hand.

_Gabrielle,_

_ By the time you wake up this morning, I will have gone. I know that this is not the way you wanted to say goodbye, and I am sorry about that, but I told you before that my time was coming._

_Right now, there are so many doubts and fears that you still have to conquer before you'll truly be yourself again, and I know a part of you wonders if that will ever happen. Trust me when I tell you with all my heart that it will._

_When Lynette passed away, all those years ago, I never thought that I would be able to smile again, and yet I did. I never thought that I would feel for anyone, and still, I had a wonderful life with Nicolla._

_I must admit that you were the one that helped me the most. The night I landed here, and found the two of you, I knew that I was going to get in over my head. My helping you that night did more for me than it did for you. I saw a part of my own daughter in the form of a fiery young woman from a world I never knew existed, and it made me realize that the spirits of all the people we've ever known do continue in other places and in other people._

_In many ways, you gave me back my daughter. For that, I will always love you._

_I left a couple of things here for you. One that you will need, the other that you asked me for. You have all that you will ever need to live a long life, including the knowledge that you crave. I know that you will use them well._

_I also left you some extra food, clothing, and water to help on the rest of your journey across the desert. I think you'll need them, and I can't think of anyone more deserving of them._

_I met a priest once, on his way to Saquarrah, and he shared a blessing with me that I want to share with you now._

_"Walk with the Gods at your back, purpose in your steps, and you will never be led astray."_

_Thank you for helping me to find a life that I thought I had lost. I can only hope that you find your own again. You deserve it and so much more._

_Safe journey, Gabrielle, wherever your path takes you._

_Always at your side,_

_Your friend,_

_Master Chief, Tyrion Darquefyre – SFR7 (retired)_

Gabrielle held the paper in her trembling hand, her eyes glistening as the pulling in her heart began afresh. Tentatively, she lifted the bundle of cloth and realized it was a robe like the desert travelers wore to protect them from the burning sun. Beneath it were several other items. Some of Lynette's clothing consisting of shirts and a couple of pairs of pants, a sturdy pair of utilitarian boots, and Tyrion's saber. Next to it was a beaten, old leather bound tan book. The pressed and faded letters at one time might have been red.

She stared at the title, and a shaky laugh escaped from her throat in a kind of sob. She smiled through her tears.

Concepts and Philosophies of War and Peace

She opened the cover and saw an old inscription on the yellow paper inside the cover, written in a different hand and badly faded.

_"Knowledge is Power,_

_Compassion is Wisdom,_

_Understanding is Balance."_

Her eyes drifted about the room, searching in vain for Tyrion to appear. Something out beyond the open hatch caught her attention, and she made out quickly fading footprints in the sand, striding away from the ship. He had set out across the desert with only one purpose.

"Tyrion," Gabrielle gasped. Quickly, she gathered up the things he had left her, packing them in her bag and then ran out the hatch following the trail.

When she reached the top of the dune, she came to a sudden stop. The tracks had vanished. It was as if he had simply flown away.

She looked about in vain, and then a sudden realization set in. In her mind she played back the image of the interior of the cabin. The door to the defunct flight deck had always been closed. She suddenly remembered it being slightly ajar.

The trail had been a diversion to get her out of the ship. It was a false trail, designed to lead her far enough away for…

There was a brilliant orange glow behind her, and a loud whump reverberated through the ground. She turned in fright and saw the massive cloud of fire rising into the heavens.

Tyrion's ship was nothing more than a massive pyre with fire licking the sky.

Her belongings fell to the sandy ground, forgotten.

"Tyrion!" she screamed. She ran back towards the wreckage, but had to stop as the wall of heat became too intense. There was no way to get in and rescue her friend. No way could he have survived that blast even if she could get in.  
Tyrion Darquefyre was gone.

She dropped to her knees and watched helplessly as the flames burned what was left of the old ship to smoldering ruin.


End file.
